It was a deep dark mystical forest where moss grows thick on trees, where sunshine barely lightens, and the dry air’s hard to breathe,
Where vines like arms reach down to touch the world so far below,
And Trolls live under tall stone bridges where fairies fly, to and fro,
Where turtles would ask you enlightening questions and hares like horses, they’d hop about,
A special place in thoughts long past where dreams at night they seemed to shout,
And glisten in the brook that babbled upon the valley floor below,
This place I ventured when still young,
This place called, Tally Ho.
All fantasy in a magical world, where life was turned inside out,
Where legs would walk in reverse and smiles appeared as saddened frowns,
Where answers usually were but questions and questions were but rhymes,
And minutes measured in steps one takes as opposed to being measured in time.
I knew not what I sought down there, and in my thoughts, I didn’t care,
For comes a point when in despair we all ignore life’s silence,
Imagination breeds new thoughts of fantasies unknown at times,
And in an instance, if you dream illusions take you elsewhere.
Now Tally Ho was but a place to venture when ones lonely,
A place where nothing seemed concealed and darkness appeared as light quite ghostly,
Where blind men moved about through touch and the deaf knew only silence,
For the sounds were hushed in winds profound and words remained defiant.
For if you look to Tally Ho expecting to find answers,
Of what you may have thought you knew about those many questions,
You’ll learn quite fast that no one knows the way to the darkened edges,
Concealed you’ll find within your heart what only is imagined,
Of truths, behind those dreams in time, where this really never happens.
So spread your wings and come along to Tally Ho with me,
A place where voices are quite soft, and visions seek eternity,
Where passions reveal one’s deepest thoughts,
And questions are always answered,
A place I knew called Tally Ho in a world which never happened.